Words temporarily fail her.
The woodworm problem in the vestry, Gene cheerfully takes over from where shes left off, the loose tiles on the church roof, the persistent tagging on the back wall
That sneaky, little Humanist, William Tuttle, stealing all the funeral work right from under my nose! Sheila fumes.
Damn the man! Gene grins. With his ridiculously low fees and his comprehensive service plan!
This infernal, sodding kitchen! Sheila squawks, her eyes flying open. Not even room for a dishwasher or a decent-sized washing machine! The malfunctioning cooker! No proper freezer! And now theyre seriously expecting me to help cater church events from over here?
The old reverends wife used to manage it, Gene gently fans the flames of her ire. I hear Mrs Nobles mini bacon quiches were second to none.
Francine bloody Noble! Sheila slams down both her hands on to the yellow, laminated breakfast bar. The woman was a bloody saint!
Stalwart of the choir unbelievable soprano voice made all the kids clothes herself, by hand Gene provokes her still further.
Fine! All right! Enough!
Sheila laughingly concedes defeat, turning to place the indigestion tablets back into the cupboard, before seconds later withdrawing a stray pair of tweezers, sticky with dried cereal. How on earth ?
I dread to think, Gene mutters, his hand creeping around to the bruise on his shoulder.
Will you make an appointment with the doctor? she asks, not missing a beat.
Nuh-uh.
He shakes his head. Ive got my six-monthly check-up in a couple of weeks. May as well sit it out.
Ah.
She nods, her eyes briefly scanning his face, then she turns and peers through the tiny window above the sink and out into the back yard beyond.
Youre so bloody stoical, she muses (as if commenting, dispassionately, on a tree or a cloud). Its amazing. It makes me want to hug you and slap you, all at once.
Thanks.
He smiles, stiffly.
Dont take it amiss. She turns to face him again. Its a blessing, a kind of a a gift, almost. Ive always found it truly enviable She makes a half-cocked attempt to mollify him. And I know its just your personality your character something you take entirely for granted hardly even give a second thought to She shrugs. I mean its just what it is. Its just who you are. Theres no support network no faith no gratitude
Gene scowls. I hope Im not ungrateful, he murmurs, hurt.
Its enviable, she repeats, its effortless. Its wonderful. And yet here I am, in my sanctimonious, little dog collar she tugs at her collar, balefully supposedly representing everything thats good and just and decent, but actually consumed by bile and rage and frustration, finding everything so ridiculously bloody hard Her mouth twists into a mordant smile. Then I look at you, all free and unencumbered, without care, without faith, and I see this this this easiness, this earnestness, this gentle acceptance of things this sense of infinite patience this this infuriating piety
She throws up her hands. There are tears in her eyes.
You feel things very deeply, he insists, thats all.
And you dont?
She delivers him a sharp look. He frowns, momentarily caught off guard.
Bully for Sheila and all her misguided passion, eh?! she scoffs. Angry, bitter, exhausted old Sheila! Bully for her!
You feel frustrated unappreciated. He moves towards her, instinctively, and touches her arm. Thats inevitable. Youre a woman in a male-dominated profession. It goes with the territory
No.
Shes not buying it. Im judgemental. Im opinionated. Im short-tempered. And its all rooted in ego. In pride. She knocks his hand from her arm by adjusting her hair. I lack humility. I lack resignation. Im too urgh stressed all the time. Like the other day, with the bishop
Thats just part and parcel of what you do, he interrupts, possibly hoping to divert her, youre an arbitrator between the forces of good and evil.
She ponders this for a second. Like Luke Skywalker? she mutters, amused, in spite of herself.
Or Miss Marple. He grins.
Thatd be right. She chuckles. Nothing too glamorous or high-tech just the light perm, the pleated skirt, the nice, comfy pair of leather brogues
Down on the church allotments, spy-glass in hand Gene teases her.
Not even Miss Marple could reason her way out of that particular hole. She grimaces, plucking a stray hair off her sleeve.
The decisions been made? Gene suddenly looks serious. Hes flogging them off?
Yup.
She twists the stray hair around her index finger.
You discussed the petition?
Of course.
She looks up, defensive. I said we had over seven hundred signatures two hundred more than we currently have
And how did he respond? Gene demands.
He didnt. He just shrugged.
He just shrugged?!
Pretty much.
Bloody hell! Genes incensed. Hows that sanctimonious little prig manage to sleep at night?!
He sleeps like a baby, Sheila sighs, removing the washing-up cloth from the washing-up bowl, wringing it out and then draping it over the tap. He doesnt really see it as a problem he can resolve. He says his hands are tied
Thats bullshit! You know thats just bullshit!
Is it, though? Sheila dries her damp fingers on a tea towel and then rubs her eyes with her knuckles, exhausted. Its easy to demonize him, Gene, but we both know in our heart of hearts that this was never so much a simple choice between right and wrong as a fluffed-up compromise between two lesser kinds of evil
Are you sure about that? Genes plainly not convinced.
Uh. No, Sheila admits, removing the tea towel from its small, plastic hook, shaking it out and then folding it in half, ready for use, which could well be a sign that I need to take a step back from the situation distance myself from the campaign; try and focus my limited energies on something more positive, something more attainable
Nah. Not your style, Gene maintains.
My style? she grumbles, grabbing a teacup and starting to dry it. Whats my style, exactly? Three years of senseless rancour followed by a long and drawn-out nervous breakdown?
Why change the habits of a lifetime? Gene teases her.
Why change the habits of a lifetime? Gene teases her.
Well maybe, just this once, I need to rise above be the bigger person
Sheilas almost laughing as she says this.
Pshaw! Genes incredulous.
Thanks. She shoots him a jaundiced look as she places the dried cup into a nearby cupboard.
You dont need me to tell you that theres a massive principle at stake here, he persists, which is that the church has a responsibility to the wider community, even if they dont happen to be members of the Christian faith per se.
You know, increasingly Im coming to see the virtues in your philosophy, Sheila muses, grabbing a saucer from the draining-board this time.
Mine? Gene frowns.
Yeah she gives the saucer a cursory buff and then places it alongside the cup taking the path of least resistance.
Thats my philosophy?
Genes plainly irritated by this.
I need to be more pragmatic she shrugs compromise. Let things go.
Who are you, Gene demands (only semi-joking now), and what the hell have you done with my wife?
Ive placed her into an old box labelled idealist, she sighs, punctured the cardboard with a couple of air-holes, and then carefully taped over the lid.
She gives the tea towel a cursory inspection. I dont think shell be especially missed, she adds.
Well, for what its worth, Gene maintains, Ive always really loved your reformist zeal.
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, she quotes, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
Gene looks at her, quizzically.
W.B. Yeats. When You are Old.
She gazes around the kitchen, pensively. I feel old, she mutters. I feel ancient. In fact I feel sort of sort of desiccated.
Like a religious coconut, Gene suggests.
Strung up on a high branch for all the blue tits to peck at. She grimaces.
I do love your pilgrim soul, Gene avows, but not the sorrow. The sorrow part I can live without.
With idealism comes heartbreak. With stoicism comes She thinks for a moment, scrunching up the tea towel in her hand. yet more stoicism.
Great! Bucket-loads of stoicism, Gene grumbles, where the hell will we find the room to store it all?
We can rent a railway arch, Sheila suggests.
Yeah Gene quickly warms to this idea. We can tie the bishop to a chair and chuck him in there, too.
Alongside my little box of idealism, she muses.
Not such a little box, Gene snorts, how about an unwieldy, plywood crate with rusting, stainless-steel supports?
Sheila refuses to take his bait. She turns and grabs a cereal bowl. Maybe my appointment to this post wasnt the start of something after all, she ruminates, but the end of it.
How so? Gene scowls.
I just dont think they view me as a functioning part of the team She finishes with the bowl and places it into the cupboard. And thats not only locally, but in the diocese as a whole This time she grabs a dinner plate. I mean the bishop honestly seems to believe that my appointment was enough that his involvement ends there.
The pace of change was always bound to be slow, Gene interjects, you knew that when you accepted the post.
I basically just tick a box, she continues, ignoring his interjection. I fill a quota. At best Im a hollow symbol of change; the most shallow the most superficial Words fail her, temporarily, and she polishes the plate with an especial vigour. Its his automatic, fall-back position every time I bring up any kind of problem I might be experiencing with the PCC or any kind of issue I might have with the church warden
She places the plate down on to the worktop and quickly grabs another. He basically just peers at me over the top of his spectacles as if to say, Youre there, arent you? Ive done my bit. Ive stuck my neck out. Now stop your infernal carping, woman, grit your teeth, and get on with it!
He did stick his neck out, Gene concedes.
Yeah. I know that, Gene Sheilas starting to work up a real head of steam, now but whats the point in making a controversial appointment if once the appointments finally secured you just back off, holding your hands up, basically refusing all further involvement?
She finishes drying the second plate and slides it on top of the first. I mean Im virtually disabled by the PCC, the church wardens from the Dark Ages, every remotely interesting initiative I try and undertake is either blocked outright or dies a slow and painful death due to a universal lack of interest